


Christmas in Philadelphia

by jooliewrites



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 06:58:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2842139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jooliewrites/pseuds/jooliewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver bargains with himself to go one more block before calling this whole excursion a wash. It certainly isn’t shaping up be the best Christmas ever but it isn’t like eating by himself in some diner would make the day any merrier. He turns the corner and quite literally runs into him. </p>
<p>Connor Walsh.<br/>Of course. </p>
<p>+</p>
<p>A canon-verse Coliver Christmas</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas in Philadelphia

**Author's Note:**

> No spoilers but certain scenes from the film "White Christmas" are referenced in the fic. No worries if you haven't seen the film but if you would like here are the links for the two scenes on YouTube: 
> 
> [The Best Things Happen While You're Dancing - Danny Kaye and Vera-Ellen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ax66QU8pvtA)
> 
> [Love, You Didn't Do Right By Me - Rosemary Clooney](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tKA0jcN8Mew)
> 
>  
> 
> Again, you don't have to be familiar with the scenes but just in case. :-)
> 
> +  
> +  
> +

Oliver isn’t quite sure if this walk is doing him any good.

The idea starting out had been to get some fresh air and a change of scene. Help clear out the Christmas-funk he’d worked himself into being alone in his apartment all day.

He’d decided this year that it would be more economical to only go home for Thanksgiving or Christmas rather than stretch his budget buying two plane tickets and it turned out to be easier to get Thanksgiving off at work. So his Christmas, he told his family, would be spent in Philadelphia this year. His parents hadn’t been thrilled and his sister was downright pissed to be “left alone with both of them” after both Oliver and his brother let it be known that they would be Christmasing elsewhere. But Oliver had been happy with the decision. It was financially responsible and mature and the just right thing for him to do.

Although, to be fair, when Oliver’d made the plans he was also in the middle of a relationship with someone who wasn’t planning on going home for the holiday either. The fact that Connor was going to be in Philly for Christmas _and_ on break from school had been a big factor in Oliver’s decision.

Too big a factor he now knew.

When Oliver had pictured what this Christmas would look like it had been more cuddling on the couch and relaxed cooking together and eating in soft candle light followed by slow, warm, love making in front of a fireplace somewhere. Whereas the reality turned out to be him sleeping in way too late, watching cheesy Christmas specials in his boxers while eating cereal straight out of the box. Then, after forcing himself to actually take a shower and put on real clothes, he decided to reward his attempt at being a functioning member of society with the whiskey he’d received in the office Secret Santa.

Sitting in the semi-dark of his apartment, watching the sun set on the worst Christmas he could recall and feeling a good and proper funk setting over him along with a bitter buzz of the alcohol, Oliver decided that enough was enough. He poured the rest of the whiskey down the drain before throwing on his coat to find someplace that was still open. Oliver figured he’d grab a cup of coffee and maybe some pie, call his family to wish them merry Christmas, and try to salvage what was left of this merriest of holidays.

That had been the plan anyway. The reality is that it is cold. Really cold. So cold he can’t feel his face anymore because the scarf he picked was more fashionable than weather appropriate. His socks are wet, meaning his feet are wet, because he stepped in not one but two puddles wandering his neighborhood. And the cherry on top of his bitter mood is that seeing the families rush off from one celebration to another and the couples taking leisurely Christmas evening strolls is making him feel worse rather than actually improving his mood.

Oliver bargains with himself to go one more block before calling this whole excursion a wash. He has coffee at his apartment and at least a frozen pizza or something he can make for dinner. He’s not feeling very festive but there has to be some channel out there that isn’t playing Christmas movies and if not he can just pull up Netflix and rewatch Classic Who. It certainly isn’t shaping up be the best Christmas but it isn’t like eating by himself in some diner would be any jollier.

Oliver turns the corner at Market and quite literally runs into him.

Connor Walsh. Of course.

+

“Oh man. Sorry,” Connor says as they knock into each other and throws out an arm to steady the stranger as he wavers. “Sorry again. Not paying attention—” He trails off when he looks up to see Oliver standing there. “Oh.”

They stand there, frozen for a moment. “Hi,” Oliver breathes out.

“Hi yourself,” Connor returns with a smirk that falls flat at the look on Oliver’s face.

“What are you doing here?”

Connor knows what Oliver’s really asking is ‘ _What are you doing walking around my neighborhood on Christmas?_ ’ but he ignores it. “Campus is too quiet. Needed to walk.”

The Middleton campus is miles across town but Oliver lets it side. It seems he doesn’t care to make an issue of it and Connor is grateful he doesn’t have to explain himself—especially when he has no idea what he’d say. Setting out tonight, Connor hadn’t intended to end up wandering Oliver’s neighborhood. It just, sort of, happened.

“You didn’t return any of my calls,” Oliver says and Connor winces a little. Apparently, he does have some explaining to do.

“School. Work. Finals. Court.” Connor shrugs with another smirk, one that sticks this time. “Pick your excuse.”

Oliver shakes his head, turns on his heel, and starts back to his apartment. Connor catches a glimpse of the hurt in Oliver’s gaze at his flippant answers and drops the act. “Hey. Wait.” He runs up and tugs on Oliver’s arm, stopping the other man in his tracks and turning him around. “Look I’m sorry alright.” He pulls off a glove to rub a hand over his face.

The entire walk, Connor entertained himself with various scenarios of running into Oliver, different fantasies with increasingly outrageous circumstances that reunited them. He knew he wasn’t going to actually see Oliver of course; no way Oliver stuck with his original plan of spending this Christmas in town. But planning what he would do given an unlikely third chance with Oliver had become Connor’s main hobby these past weeks. He spends hours of time considering what he would say, what he would do. All the different ways he’d fix things between the two of them. However, now that Oliver is actually standing in front of him, Connor can hear himself staying everything wrong. Messing it all up all over again.

“I’m sorry, okay? I should have called—always meant to call but—” Connor pauses to catch his breath and then the next is all coming out in a blind rush. “But things got crazy, you know? Things just—they just got crazy. School and work and these new cases. And Annalise’s husband—he dis—he disappeared and they questioned—the cops questioned all of us. Over and over again. And they think he murdered that girl. That one who disappeared and then they found her in that water tank. That Lila girl. Can you imagine? They think—I mean—he _murdered_ her. On purpose. And and and—the cops have been in and out of the office. And then finals and going to court and talking to them over and over and just—I meant to call. Wanted to call. Always meant to call you.”

Connor doesn’t realize he’s hyperventilating. He doesn’t notice he can’t breathe. He doesn’t notice that his hands are shaking and he’s broken out in a cold sweat underneath all his layers. He’s just repeating that last phrase “Meant to call. Meant to call you.” over and over while Oliver gently guides him out of the middle of the sidewalk and under an awning.

Oliver pulls Connor down so they are sitting on the sidewalk, side-by-side with their backs against the storefront and nudges his head down between his knees. Oliver runs a soothing hand up and down Connor’s back and gently shushes as Connor keeps trying to explain himself. Connor just sits there, allowing himself be soothed, and never wants any of this to stop.

The panic can stop. The weight in his chest and lump in his throat that he’s been carrying around like an old friend these past weeks, those can go. The sleepless nights and the lack of appetite and the paranoia lingering in this blood, all that can leave and never return. But _this_ , this right here with Oliver, that needs to never stop again. Connor never wants to go so long again without Oliver’s hand at the nape of his neck or Oliver’s voice echoing in his ear.

Connor turns to wrap his arms around Oliver and press his face in Oliver’s neck. Breathing in the familiar aftershave and shrouding himself in the peace of Oliver presence as Oliver’s arms wrap around him in return, Connor lets himself break.

+

Oliver loses track of how long he and Connor sit there on that cold concrete. One hand running a gentle line up-and-down Connor’s back with the other anchoring the nape of his neck. Eventually Connor sits up straight and Oliver lets the hand at his back fall away but shifts the other to cradle his jaw, running a thumb over the joint. Oliver isn’t ready to let Connor go yet. He imagines the soft smile Connor sends him is supposed to be reassuring but it fails to appease his worry.

Connor starts to shift, pulling away and moving to stand, so Oliver lets his hand fall. He can almost see as Connor reassembles the wall he normally wears, that shield he uses to keep people at a distance. Watching him, Oliver realizes that this is the second time he’s seen Connor do this and is surprised he couldn’t see it that odd November morning. He had known Connor was lying to him but he missed the rest and it’s so obvious to him now. He can almost see each brick slipping home.

Once the wall is back in place, Connor is going to try to shut him out again. He will brush off this incident as some end-of-the-semester, Christmas induced episode (‘Nothing to worry about, I’m fine’), turn on his heel, and march right back out of Oliver’s life. That’s what happened the first time. That’s what Connor is gearing up to do again. However, seeing behind that façade and understanding a little better how Connor seems to operate, gives Oliver the advantage and he hones in on an idea of something that could maybe work.

“Want to grab some dinner?” Oliver quickly asks.

Connor gives him a quizzical look. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Oliver says in an off-handed tone as if nothing at all unusual happened just moments ago. As if Connor’s tears aren’t still damp on his jacket. “There’s got to be some place that’s still open.” He keeps his gaze steady on Connor’s, willing him to accept. “It’s Christmas. Let me buy you some pie or something.”

After a beat, Connor stands and reaches down a hand to pull Oliver up. “Okay.”

They stand there a moment and Connor seems to be waiting for Oliver to resend the invitation or start badgering him with questions but Oliver stays quiet. For tonight at least, Oliver’s calling a truce. He isn’t going to ask any questions or demand explanations. He’s just going to get Connor some pie and give him a couple of hours of plain and simple acceptance.

+

They find a diner three blocks down that’s still open. A lovely but tired waitress, Merilee according to her nametag, waves them to “Pick a booth, any booth” and brings them hot chocolate with miniature candy canes hanging off the rim.

“On the house, sugars,” Merilee says and pulls an order pad out of her apron. “Now, we’re out of the special, so don’t bother asking, but we’ve still got some meatloaf and Don also makes a killer Southwestern skillet if you’re interested.”

Perhaps it the power of suggestion or the fact that neither of them feels up to making actual decisions but Oliver orders the meatloaf, Connor orders the skillet and the three of them share a meaningless laugh. Merilee hums off key to _Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree_ playing low in a radio near the register and shouts their orders back to Don while Oliver takes the diner in in all its glory.

The tile of the floor is dingy and worn from years of use but, at the same time, it’s spotlessly clean. The walls are stained with cigarette smoke, a leftover from when you could smoke inside, but there isn’t a speck of dust or a single cobweb hiding in the corners of the ceiling. The vinyl of their booth is mysteriously sticky but the Christmas decorations and twinkly lights hanging everywhere making the entire place feel homey and warm. There’s a Santa figurine sitting next to a miniature Christmas tree on their table and Oliver can’t resist pressing the “Press Me” button on the figurine’s base. A small speaker on the base plays a tinny version of _Santa Baby_ and the Santa shakes his hips back and forth in a rather inappropriate display.

Oliver looks over at Connor with a laugh in his voice. “Well, it’s not the _worst_ place to be spending Christmas.”

“No,” Connor agrees, his voice somber and look he gives Oliver is raw and soft. “It might just be the best.”

+

After their meals, they linger over homemade peppermint pie and coffee. Oliver is careful to keep the conversation light and festive. He wants to ask Connor again about what happened that night in November and what happened earlier tonight but keeps his tongue. Not tonight, he tells himself. It’s Christmas. They both deserve a break on Christmas.

Instead, Oliver shares stories about Christmases growing up. About the year he and his brother convinced his sister she was on Santa’s naughty list and she got so upset crying to their mom that he and his brother were each grounded for the whole of December. About the annual trek out to the Christmas tree farm the Saturday after Thanksgiving and the ensuing fight that always broke out amongst the siblings over which tree was the best. About decorating gingerbread houses with his cousins and getting so sick on jujubes that Oliver still can’t even look at them without feeling nauseous. About baking cookies with his mom and his dad teaching him Christmas carols on his ancient guitar. About falling asleep to his grandmother reading them _The Night Before Christmas_ and the three of them waking each other up to sneak down in the middle of the night and see if Santa liked their cookies.

Oliver even takes out his phone at one point to show Connor the picture his sister had posted of her and his parents the night before all in matching pajamas with the simple message “This tradition will never die.” His brother responded with a pic of own of he and his girlfriend and her family, matching PJs of course, and the caption “The best ones never DO!! #OursAreCoolerThanYours” Connor laughs at that and Oliver realizes how much he missed that sound.

Connor shares some stories of his own family Christmas celebrations at the Walsh Compound (his term) but doesn’t volunteer much so Oliver doesn’t pry. Again, it’s not the night for pushing too hard and Connor seems content to just listen to him ramble on. Oliver wonders why they never really talked about their families before.

+

When the guilt of being the only two in the otherwise empty dinner gets to be too much, they head out, leaving a generous Christmas tip for Merilee and Don. In the parking lot, Connor lingers over a goodbye and hesitates before turning to start back towards Middleton.

Oliver watches him go for a few steps then calls out. “Want to come over?” Why should the night end if neither of them really wants it to?

“Really?” Connor raises an eyebrow.

“Not for _that_ ,” Oliver chides. The suggestive look Connor gives is more reminiscent of the Connor Walsh he normally presents to the world. Oliver warms seeing Connor slip back into his own even if he does prefer the Connor from half-an-hour ago to this Connor Walsh. Half-an-hour-ago Connor stumbled a little talking about lonely Christmases at school but also made Oliver almost snort hot chocolate out his nose telling stories about the pranks he and his sister would pull on each other during school breaks. Oliver’s afraid that he’s more than a little bit in love with half-an-hour-ago Connor _,_ _His_ Connor. “Come over for a movie or something. Christmas movies.”

“What do you have?”

“ _White Christmas_?” Oliver offers after mentally shuffling through his collection and Connor gives a take-or-leave-it shrug. “ _Christmas Vacation_?” Which is met with another infuriating shrug. “ _Die Hard_?”

“Really?” That catches Connor’s attention. “ _Die Hard_ is a Christmas movie?”

“Yes _Die Hard_ is a Christmas movie.” How does Connor not know that _Die Hard_ ( _Die Hard_!) is one of the best Christmas movies ever?

“No it isn’t.”

“Yes it is.” The indignation almost rolls off Oliver and he doesn’t even care if they sound like children. “Come over and I’ll prove it.”

“Okay. Fine.”

Connor stomps past Oliver, heading towards Oliver’s apartment. The façade of Connor Walsh has completely fallen away while they bickered. Oliver wonders if it’s normal that _His_ Connor and Connor Walsh look completely different to him?

+

Back at Oliver’s they watch _Die Hard_ , each from their respective sides of Oliver’s couch. Oliver plugged in the Christmas tree in the corner, his only decoration, and made popcorn even though neither of them is hungry. Sitting there, taking a lazy pull of his beer and sneaking glances at Oliver, Connor lets himself pretend for a little while that everything is normal again and he’s back where he belongs. He’s back home for Christmas.

As the credits roll and the movie ends, Connor concedes that he can understand why some people might consider it a Christmas movie. “I have seen the light. I’m a changed man,” he says with lighthearted mockery he walks back into the living room from the kitchen with two more beers.

Oliver is switching out the DVDs and rolls his eyes at him. “You’re such an ass sometimes.” He gets up and flops back down on the couch, snagging the second beer from Connor and starting up the movie before tossing the remote on the coffee table.

“What’s next?” Connor asks, shifting so he’s more comfortable.

“ _White Christmas_.”

“‘Plenty of schmaltz, lots of heart,’” Connor quotes and grins when Oliver rolls his eyes at him again.

“Such an ass,” Oliver murmurs and takes a pull off the beer as the movie begins to play.

A little later, as they watch Danny and Vera-Ellen dance on a pier in Florida, Connor has to remind himself to keep his distance. He and Oliver are sitting closer to each other this time around than they were during the first film but there is still a safe amount of space between them. Oliver is slouched near the center of the couch with his legs thrown out to the side and Connor is almost mirroring that. If they each shifted slightly their hips would touch. With minimal effort Connor could lean over and rest his head on Oliver’s shoulder. He could reach over and take Oliver’s hand in his and run his thumb over the inside of Oliver’s wrist to feel the pulse. Oliver could wrap an arm around Connor’s shoulders and pull him close so Connor could rest his ear against Oliver’s chest and hear the steady beat of his heart. Connor could pull Oliver down across the couch and cradle Oliver in his arms. But Connor doesn’t do any of that. He can’t do any of that.

By some miracle, he’s back in this apartment. Connor is back in Oliver’s company and they are talking about everything and nothing and they’re almost acting like friends. Connor is not going to screw it all up again. Oliver is clearly, and totally understandably, not ready to forgive him. He knows this is completely reasonable and that this—spending Christmas together, eating dinner, watching movies, Oliver acting like Connor didn’t betray him and lie to him—all of it is much more than he deserves. If Oliver is only ever willing to give Connor this much of himself again, Connor will understand and respect that.

As the movie plays on though, Connor wants more. He’s a selfish ass but he wants more than this. He wants to put his head on Oliver’s shoulder and be welcome. He wants to link his fingers through Oliver’s and be allowed. He wants to kiss Oliver and be forgiven.

Much later, Connor listens to Rosemary Clooney sing on about love doing her wrong and ponders forgiveness. “Hey Ollie?” he whispers.

The nickname grabs Oliver’s attention like nothing else would. Connor has only used it a handful of times and never casually. ‘Oliver’ was for everyday, ‘Ollie’ was rare and special—whispered like a benediction rather than a name. “Yeah Con?” Oliver whispers back.

“I lied before.” Connor doesn’t take his eyes off Rosemary Clooney to look at Oliver. In this moment he feels like he is standing on a precipice, afraid to move lest the wind changes. “About the whole drug problem thing, I lied.” He listens to Rosie sing about love not being smart and wonders if this, confessing to Oliver, isn’t that smart either. “I mean—I know that people lie about not having a drug problem when they really do all the time. This isn’t like that though. I’m not trying to hide some drug problem or something. I really don’t have one.” Connor turns to look at Oliver. “I lied to you that morning.”

“I know,” Oliver plainly tells him. “I knew that morning.” Oliver’s eyes don’t leave his and Connor doesn’t even breathe. “What I don’t understand is why. Why lie about that?”

Connor gives a small shake of his head. “I can’t—” His voice breaks on the simple sentence and he closes his eyes and presses his lips shut. The whole night was going to well. Oliver wasn’t ignoring Connor’s episode or erratic behavior per se but he has been giving Connor a reprieve. Connor silently pleads for Oliver not to press him on this either. He knows that if Oliver pushes right now he’ll fold. The burden of that night and forcing himself to repeat the same set of lies over and over and over again to the police is getting to be too much. Connor can feel himself bending under the weight and it’s just a matter of time before he crumbles completely. If he tells Oliver now, everything from the past month will have been for naught. “I just can’t Ollie,” he whispers in a broken voice. Connor opens his eyes and fears the resolve he sees in Oliver’s. He can feel Oliver’s gaze weigh and measure him and knows his entire fate rests in Oliver’s seemingly limitless understanding.

“Okay. Not tonight,” he says and Connor smiles a smile that is broken and watery. He blinks back the unshed tears and turns back to the movie. “But eventually,” Oliver continues, tone still soft but firm. “Eventually you need to tell me what happened Connor. Or if not me someone. If you don’t want to tell me that’s okay but I think—I think you need to tell someone.”

Connor nods at that. He does need to tell someone what really happened and he really does want that person to be Oliver but knows it can’t. He can’t protect Oliver if Oliver knows what really happened in the Keating house that night. The thought brings more tears to his eyes but he swallows them down past the lump in his throat. That’s another problem for another day.

“Okay. I will. Eventually.” Connor says when he notices Oliver still staring at him, waiting for some kind of confirmation. It makes his stomach turn how easily he can lie to Oliver now and the words leave a bitter taste in his mouth. He quickly downs the rest of his beer. Connor sits up to put the empty bottle on the table and briefly considers leaving. The movie’s nearly over but now’s as good a time as any and he really should just get up and go. Oliver will understand. They both know that by staying longer Connor’s just making the inevitable goodbye worse. He glances over his shoulder and can see that Oliver expects him to go, the disappointment evident in his expression.

Instead of standing up, Connor decides to lean back. He can stay for the rest of the movie at least. He shifts a little to get a closer to Oliver and cautiously rests his head on Oliver’s shoulder. “Is this okay?” Please dear God in heaven let this be okay.

Oliver bends his own head to rest against Connor’s. “It’s okay.”

Oliver shifts to place a kiss to the crown of his head and, again, the overwhelming feeling of being home washes over him. Connor tells himself that it’s too dark for Oliver to notice if some of those tears in his eye fall silently down.

+

After _White Christmas_ ends Oliver puts on _Christmas Vacation_ despite the fact that both he and Connor are clearly exhausted and punchy. Neither of them attempts to stifle yawns as they watch the Grizwolds and Oliver’s eyes are gritty and tired behind his lenses. However, he’s not ready to suggest they move into his bedroom, even if it is for something as innocent as sleeping. Nothing is fixed between them. Nothing is healed. The wounds of their relationship are still open and raw. Tonight is blessed sanctuary but they’re not ready for more.

In spite of this, Oliver still doesn’t want Connor to leave and is plagued by a nagging feeling that if Connor leaves tonight he’s not going to come back. There won’t be anymore early morning wakeup calls with Connor pounding a hole through his door or random encounters on the street. This time when Connor leaves it will really be the end. At that thought, Oliver turns in Connor’s hold, giving up all pretense of watching the movie. He falls asleep to Connor lightly carding a hand through is hair and rubbing a thumb over his hip. His face nuzzled in Connor’s chest and their feet tangled together. Oliver falls asleep being held by arms he loves and prays to whoever might be listening that Connor just stays through Christmas.

+

In the morning, Oliver wakes to dull light spilling through the windows and a pillow clutched to his chest where Connor once was. He turns over and sits up, stretching his arms overhead and hearing his shoulder pop before running a hand over his forehead when he swears he feels a phantom press of a kiss.

Glancing around the empty apartment, he assumes that Connor left. He supposes he really should get up and do a more through check but the thought of wandering his apartment just to verify that Connor’s really gone makes him want to pull the blanket back over his head and just go back to sleep. Brushing off the melancholy and sudden urge to cry, Oliver stands and makes his way to the kitchen for coffee. It is still a Friday after all and he’s got to pull himself together for work. Turning into his kitchen, Oliver stops short in the doorway.

Connor didn’t leave. He’s sitting on the counter with his back to the wall and his legs crossed up on the counter. In another life, Connor used to sit just like that and watch Oliver cook dinner as they shared about their day. Hearing Oliver approach, Connor lifts his head. Bags hang dark under his bloodshot eyes and his normally perfect hair is disarray. At the sight of him, Oliver concludes that he was the only one of them to get any sleep last night.

“Thought you left,” Oliver says with no preamble, leaning against the doorway.

“Was planning on it.” Connor makes to take a sip of the coffee he’s holding before leaning over to dump the sludge down the drain.

“Why didn’t you?”

Connor looks up at him and Oliver’s heart just breaks at the sight of it. Connor Walsh is nowhere to be seen. Under all those layers of exhaustion, it’s still _His_ Connor looking back.

_His_ Connor stayed through Christmas.

“Thought we could talk a little about what really happened that night.”

+  
+  
+

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed darlings! 
> 
> Wishing you and yours a safe and happy holiday!  
> Love to all of you!  
> -Jules xoxoxo
> 
> [x](http://ramblesandreblogs.tumblr.com/)


End file.
